Young Lords II: Welcome to Imladris
by Sanaryelle
Summary: Prince Thranduil is unwillingly sent to Imladris on an errand, and Glorfindel concocts an evil plan to get rid of him. A stressed out Elrond and way too calm Erestor also feature. Second in a trilogy.


_**A/N:** I recommend that you read "Pass the Dorwinion" before reading this – there are quite a few references to that story here. Now, I am no expert on Tolkien's world, Elvish history or language, so this story may be AU without my knowing it. But, as with the prequel, I think it's possible that this **could** have happened. Let me know if you spot any incorrect facts and I will try to fix them. And enjoy the ride!_

**Welcome to Imladris**

An unwelcome guest was coming to Imladris and Elrond was in a panic.

The renowned lord was currently on his knees rummaging frantically through his closet, his desperation making him reckless. He wildly burrowed through the unkempt piles of clothing, searching for any set of formal robes that was not wrinkled, stained, or torn. Tunics, jerkins, shirts, vests, breeches, trousers, and robes were scattered all over his bedroom, spilling in a patchwork of colours and fabrics over the furniture, and even out onto the sunlit veranda. More garments were being flung onto the floor by the second.

A cheerful knock beating the rhythm of _Song of Nimrodel_ sounded at the door. Without waiting for permission Glorfindel strode into the bedroom, agilely ducking a red tunic that came unexpectedly sailing his way. He looked around at the colossal mess and smirked at his lord's bare feet, which were the only visible parts of the elf protruding from the wardrobe. "You know, Elrond", he remarked impishly, "You need to get yourself a wife."

"Quiet!" Elrond snapped, having at long last reached the back of his enormous closet. He crawled out backwards and stood, dark hair straggling from his braids, and gave an almighty sigh of dejection: "I have absolutely nothing to wear…"

"What about this?" Glorfindel asked with exaggerated innocence, holding up a set of deep blue robes.

Elrond took one look and groaned, sinking his face into his hands. "No, not that! It is fate – the only robe I have that is fit to wear, is the one I wore on _that_ night, when I first met him."

"So?" the blond warrior remarked brightly, shifting a massive pile of clothes in order to sink into a chair. "Seeing that familiar outfit might bring back certain … ah … fond memories for the Woodland Prince."

Elrond looked up at his seneschal incredulously, as if seriously concerned about the other's sanity. "Fond?" he snorted. "_Fond?_ I would not call challenging the Prince to a drinking contest _fond_."

"How about spinning in circles, singing about trees?" Glorfindel shot back cheekily, his eyes twinkling in remembrance.

"Well", Elrond snarled, "How about throwing the Prince's dagger through a window?"

The warrior's smile faded. "That was cruel, my lord."

"Thank you", the half-elf answered promptly, thus ending the conversation. As Glorfindel idly flipped through a book, Elrond rubbed his forehead contemplatively, surveying the devastation. He had an astonishing amount of clothes and yet he could wear none of these outfits without unintentionally insulting Prince Thranduil. If any elf would be offended by a host sporting wrinkled robes, it would be the Crown Prince of the Greenwood. Elrond frowned in sudden thought, turning to his seneschal. "Which robes are _you_ wearing, by the way?"

"None", said Glorfindel offhandedly without looking up from his page.

Elrond tilted a dark eyebrow. "Oh? Going naked, are you?"

The other elf made a face and closed the book with a snap. "No need for that derisive tone, my lord. Actually, I remembered how offended _you_ were that Thranduil wore his forest garb – you know, when he went to see the High King."

"And?" the young lord prompted, wondering what was next.

"And", continued Glorfindel, "I have decided to return the favour. No formal robes for me! I do not have any of those brown rags that the Wood-Elves are so fond of, but my hunting leathers should do nicely." The blond elf glowed with pride for his scheme, as if he expected the highest praise.

"Does it not occur to you", Elrond said slowly, trying for once to speak sense into his friend, "That Prince Thranduil just might take offence at that?"

"Yes", the warrior beamed, clearly pleased that the other elf was catching on. "But _you_ are the Lord of Imladris, so you will have the merry task of smoothing it all over, not I!"

The dark-haired elf massaged his temples, which had started to throb most painfully. "Or I could have the merry task of putting you on bread and water for life", he threatened, but his heart was not in it. He heaved a deep sigh, sinking onto a pile of tunics in the chair opposite his friend. "Glorfindel, I thought that _you_ had pledged to serve _me_, not the other way around", he groaned, leaning back and closing his eyes in anguish.

"I do serve you", the warrior protested with a charming smile, "Which is why I am going to let you borrow one of my dress-robes. It will be a little wide in the shoulders, but it should do just fine."

Elrond reluctantly thanked the other elf, who rose to go. Glorfindel paused at the door for a final look around at the chaotic disorder of the room. "And Elrond?"

"Yes?"

"If you were married, you wouldn't be in this sort of mess in the first –"

"_Leave!_"

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Elrond stood at the entrance to Imladris, preparing to greet his unwelcome guest. As promised, Glorfindel had lent him a clean formal robe – but Elrond had to keep pushing up the long sleeves, which had a tendency to fall over his hands. Glorfindel was also taller than he, and Elrond had to make sure he did not accidentally tread on the hem of his robes. There had been a moment on the stairs that could have ended disastrously, if not for a conveniently-positioned tapestry and a helpful Erestor. Standing there in his oversized robes, the Lord of Imladris felt like an elfling playing dress-up, but it was too late now to do anything about it.

He watched as three elves crossed the courtyard fresh from their horses and mounted the steps. As they faced Elrond and his household, the Lord's gaze turned to the young elf standing proudly in the middle. Forcing a painful smile, he bowed. "Prince Thranduil", Elrond said through gritted teeth. "Welcome to Imladris."

The Wood-Elves all gave short bows in return. "Lord Elrond", the Prince replied evenly, his fair face expressionless. Only Erestor and Glorfindel could see that the two young elves were glaring at one another; to the rest of Imladris, the meeting had all the appearance of a courteous welcome. The only noticeable blemish on the scene was the Lord's seneschal dressed in hunting leathers.

Elrond wanted to keep his show of civility as brief as possible. "If you would follow me", he said as respectfully as he could, and turned abruptly on his heel to lead Thranduil to his quarters, followed by Glorfindel and Erestor. The Prince's two companions would be taken care of by other elves of his household, but Thranduil's standing demanded that the Lord of Imladris himself look to his needs. "No doubt you wish to wash and change for dinner", Elrond remarked as they walked, subtly alluding to the Prince's soiled appearance: Thranduil was covered in sweat and grime, a far cry from his usual spotlessness.

"Indeed", the Wood-Elf replied, stone-faced. "Yet I am not familiar with the fashions of Imladris. Are oversized robes and hunting leathers prevalent styles here?"

Before Elrond or Glorfindel could say something that would start a war, Erestor respectfully broke in: "We were rather surprised to receive word of your coming, my Lord Prince."

Thranduil acknowledged the fortuitous interruption with a slight smirk. "There is a matter of extreme importance that I must attend to personally", he answered, making it perfectly clear that he was here for business, not pleasure. "Perhaps you could allow me a private audience tonight, Lord Elrond, to discuss it."

Thranduil's request sounded like a command, but Elrond was too surprised to take offence. "Of course", he answered graciously, wondering what business the Prince could possibly have at Imladris. "We can have dinner tonight privately, and discuss the matter. 'Extreme importance', you said?"

The Prince nodded, his expression serious. "My father would have come to handle it himself, but…"

"But what?" Glorfindel prompted.

Thranduil gave a mirthless smile. "Well, he did not wish to come here", he stated bluntly. From his brief acquaintance with the Prince, Elrond knew that this particular Wood-Elf never softened verbal blows. Whereas a different elf might be ashamed to tell a lord straight out that his father did not wish to see him, Thranduil had no such scruples.

"How fortunate for you, then, to be sent in his stead", Elrond observed, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Thranduil gave a short nod. "Precisely my thoughts", he muttered bitterly.

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When the Prince had grudgingly pronounced his rooms to be satisfactory, Erestor and Glorfindel walked with Elrond to receive their instructions. "Erestor", the young lord said pensively, "Have dinner for two sent to my study tonight." He was still wondering what the Prince would talk to him about.

"Make that three!" Glorfindel objected, voice firm. "I will not leave you unprotected in a room with that Wood-Elf. Why does he need to talk to you privately?"

Elrond scowled in annoyance. "How would I know? He has not told me yet!" The young lord clenched his hands to keep them from throttling his seneschal.

"You do have the gift of Foresight", the other elf pointed out good-naturedly.

Erestor, who was walking between the other two, looked as though he were trying not to laugh at Glorfindel's lack of sensitivity. The councillor observed the exchange with increasing amusement.

"I only know as much as you do – that it is a matter of extreme importance", Elrond said with as much patience as he could muster.

The warrior's blue eyes narrowed in distrust. "He may have said that", he muttered, "But that does not justify his wanting to see you alone…"

"Fine!" the half-elf snapped, whirling on his friend while his interested councillor looked on. "If it worries you so much, I suppose I shall have to let you attend, if only to prevent you from eavesdropping at the door! But Glorfindel, listen to me very carefully – there will be no insults from you, no bickering, no glares – and no wine."

The blond elf looked torn between indignation and guilt. His mouth opened and closed, but he was unable to formulate an answer in his defence.

Erestor smiled vaguely. "So – will that be dinner for four in your study tonight?"

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. He would never be rid of these two.

"I suppose I had better tell the rest of the elves", Glorfindel mused, watching as Erestor left to notify the kitchens of their plans.

"Tell them what?" asked Elrond wearily.

"To lock away their daughters, of course. Prince Thranduil is loose in Imladris! No elf-maiden is safe!"

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Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel had already gathered for dinner and were chatting quietly at the table when Thranduil finally stepped through the door of Elrond's study. He was wearing his forest attire – _Does he ever wear anything else?_ the young lord wondered – and his blond hair was immaculate, silver circlet gleaming. He gave no excuse for his lateness and sat in the empty chair without a word. After an awkward pause, Elrond gave the signal for everyone to start serving themselves; Glorfindel reached for the wine-jug but the half-elf shot him a quelling gaze, and the warrior poured himself milk instead, his expression sulky.

Thranduil, of course, noticed. And of course, he had to comment on it. "Your tastes have changed since the last time we met", he remarked lightly, helping himself to roast pigeon.

Glorfindel slammed the jug down on the table, slopping milk everywhere. "Milk is a most wholesome drink", he said with forced calm, almost turning blue with the effort to be polite. Apparently he had heeded Elrond's command, and would not insult the Prince – for now.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the blond warrior's unusual lack of hostility, and pursued the matter no further. Elrond was relieved; only a fool would continue to goad Glorfindel when he was so obviously close to the breaking-point.

"So", Elrond said once every elf had filled his plate, "What was it that you wanted to tell me, Prince Thranduil?" The Wood-Elf glanced dubiously at Glorfindel and Erestor. "You can trust them", Elrond reassured him, before realizing what a stupid remark that was. Indeed, if there was one being on all of Arda who the Prince did not trust, it would be Glorfindel. "They know all of my affairs, both business and personal", he clarified. "I keep nothing from them."

Thranduil surveyed him with a hint of contempt. "I see." He twisted his mouth as if tasting something unpleasant, then put his goblet down firmly and leaned forward. "Lord Elrond, some of your subjects were originally my father's", he said in a low voice. "One such elf, Caradorn by name, has several valuable gems in his possession. He wrote to tell us that he wishes to give them to my father, and due to the delicate nature of this transaction I was sent to fetch them."

"Gems?" Glorfindel broke in, ignoring Elrond's glare. "You are telling us that you came all this way just to pick up some gems?"

"They are rare and valuable treasures", the Prince said stiffly.

Erestor, calm and unruffled, turned to Thranduil. "When do you plan to meet with Caradorn?" he asked, his tone one of professional interest.

"It has already been planned", the Wood-Elf asserted. "I am to see him tomorrow, and I shall be leaving the day after that."

Elrond was not surprised at Thranduil choosing to stay for such a brief time. "Perhaps we could assist in the matter", he offered.

The Prince shook his head. "My father would not allow it", he explained. "I have already gone against his express wishes in telling you my true intent. I believe he was concerned that you would try to claim the gems for your own treasury."

The Lord of Imladris inclined his head. 'I appreciate your honesty, Prince Thranduil", he said sincerely. "I wish you luck in your transaction."

Once the Prince had left, and the dishes had been cleared away, the first thing that Glorfindel did was complain. "Greedy Sindarin prig!" he grumbled. "Coming all this way for jewels? Why could he not have sent someone else and spared us his presence?"

"He does not wish to be here", Elrond pointed out, "And we need only put up with him for two more days."

"Two days!" whined Glorfindel. "Two days is much too long a time." Suddenly, he sat up with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Elrond and Erestor exchanged worried glances – they recognized the telltale signs of the warrior devising one of his infamous 'plans'. "Yes", Glorfindel was whispering to himself, "Perfect."

"What is perfect?" Elrond demanded, truly dreading the answer.

His seneschal turned to him in breathless excitement. "We will make his stay here so unpleasant that he will be forced to leave early."

There was a long pause.

"That is the most idiotic plan I have ever heard", Elrond said bluntly.

"No!" protested Glorfindel. "It makes complete sense! We shall _pretend_ to be the perfect hosts, of course. But if Thranduil absolutely cannot stand remaining here, he shall leave the moment his business is done. He really does not need to stay longer."

"Perhaps he does", Elrond retorted. "It is a very long journey from his home to Imladris."

"Actually, my Lord", Erestor said unexpectedly, "It is not a bad plan. Thranduil is a practical elf, and would not leave before he was ready, anyway."

The young lord groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I know that you will do it anyway, whether I let you or not", he said finally. "But listen – do not breach decorum as hosts, do not cause the Prince bodily harm, do not give Oropher an excuse to attack Imladris, and most importantly, do _not_ use wine in your ploys!"

The disproportionately wide grin on Glorfindel's face faded swiftly. "But that eliminates half of my plans!" he protested, blue eyes wide in childish distress.

"I mean it!" Elrond warned. Seeing that he really _did_ mean it this time, the blond warrior gave a crisp nod, and the half-elf rose from his chair. "Now, let us go spend the evening in the Hall of Fire." It had already turned out to be an exhausting day, and he was looking forward to some rest and relaxation.

Thranduil was already there when they arrived, and was speaking easily, if somewhat loftily, with some elves of Imladris. Other elves were seated around the Hall in quiet conversation as they listened to the song.

"See?" Glorfindel hissed in Elrond's ear as they passed by. "See the way he is looking at Enelya? It is enough to make me sick – shameless, immoral Wood-Elves!"

"I do not see anything", Elrond announced frankly, and went to take his seat.

When the song had ended, Glorfindel strode forward before anybody could speak. "I must ask Falasril to give us a song!" he exclaimed jovially, and Elrond did a double-take. Falasril was one of those rare elves who could not sing to save his life. Moreover, he was one of those rarer elves who could not sing, yet did not know it. The short, fair Falasril beamed and obligingly got to his feet, not noticing that the Hall was emptying rapidly. Elrond groaned – _Why, Glorfindel?_ he asked with his eyes. The warrior merely slipped him a broad wink, and the elf-lord had no choice but to settle back and watch.

Throughout the agonizing performance, Elrond darted surreptitious glances at the Prince. Thranduil was staring at Falasril with unconstrained astonishment, as if wondering how an elf could possibly make such sounds. Elrond could not decide whether the spectacle was vastly amusing or terribly embarrassing.

When at long last the song had come to an end, Glorfindel jumped up and clapped exuberantly, joined by the reluctant applause of the elves who had been too polite to leave. "And now", a high-spirited Glorfindel announced, practically bouncing, "Perhaps Viltari would grace us with a couple of airs on her harp?" Elrond closed his eyes; not Viltari's harp-playing! Melkor himself could not come up with a more excruciating ordeal.

Throughout the duration of that long, long evening, Glorfindel called upon the very worst talents in Imladris, and ended the night with his own spectacularly off-key rendition of the Lay of Luthien. Elrond cringed from the first line to the last – his ancestors did not deserve such slander. He did not want to even consider what Thranduil thought of this spectacle. Before the final screeching note had completely died away, the half-elf leapt to his feet in desperation. "Yes, thank you, Glorfindel", he said through clenched teeth, "And to all of our – ah – talented performers. That was a most enjoyable evening." He left as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, heading for his workroom to brew a cup of herb tea. Perhaps it would soothe his pounding headache.

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The next morning, Elrond found himself being rudely shaken awake by Glorfindel. It was unnaturally early, even for the young lord. "What time is it?" he yawned as the warrior threw open the curtains.

"The sun is just about to rise", Glorfindel trilled. Elrond wondered how someone could be so impossibly chirpy at this ridiculous hour. The warrior rummaged through the closet and threw a robe in his direction. "Time to get dressed!"

"What is going on?' Elrond grumbled, pulling the robes over his head.

Glorfindel skipped about the room, pouring water into the washbasin and trying to find a pair of matching shoes amid the elf-lord's jumbled pile of footwear. "I have invited Thranduil to break his fast with you this morning", he explained, holding up two black ankle boots in triumph, but frowning when he saw that they were both for left feet.

"That was kind of you", Elrond commented acerbically. He dragged himself over to the washbasin and dunked his whole face into the water, the cold shock effectively waking him up.

Glorfindel handed him a towel. "Yes", the blond elf giggled, diving back into the mixed pile of shoes. "With luck he will be leaving this place before sunset. The poor Prince did not have a very restful sleep last night, I fear."

"What do you mean?" the young lord asked as he dragged a comb through his hair.

"Erestor fixed him some tea for his headache", sniggered Glorfindel. "Perhaps it was the wrong tea."

"A wakefulness drink?" Elrond guessed.

The warrior nodded gleefully, clutching a pair of matching boots. "And he has been summoned to a breakfast at the crack of dawn!" He rubbed his hands in fiendish anticipation.

Elrond was fully alert now, as he braided his hair. "You are evil", he remarked conversationally. "Positively orcish." He stomped into the boots, and reached for his belt.

"Oh – one thing", said Glorfindel, pausing at the door. "Pretend to enjoy breakfast, okay?"

Elrond stared at him. "What are we eating?" he demanded.

The warrior looked over his shoulder and winked. "You will find out, my Lord."

"Glorfindel!" Elrond cried out angrily. "What are we eating?" But the elf had already ducked out of the room.

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Elrond and Thranduil faced one another across the table, trying their utmost not to be sick. The half-elf sat was unable to look to the left or to the right. On the one side sat Glorfindel, and on the other sat Erestor, and both elves were doing something that Elrond frankly did not want to witness.

"Mmm", Glorfindel smacked his lips, and raised a dish invitingly. "More rabbit brains, Prince Thranduil?"

The Wood-Elf averted his eyes. "No, thank you", he answered hastily.

Erestor, calm as ever, ate steadily as if the things on his plate were not fully identifiable. Elrond did not know how his councillor did it. The young lord poked at the pickled trout livers and the frogspawn pudding, and put down his fork in defeat. The only thing that he could eat here was the bread. Granted, it had been used to make fishtail sandwiches; Elrond thanked Eru that his robes had such large sleeves.

"Er…" The Prince cleared his throat. "Are all breakfasts in Imladris like this?"

"Oh, yes!" Glorfindel gushed. "Wait until you see the delicacies that we shall cook up for you tomorrow!"

Thranduil's face turned an interesting shade of grey. "I think I enjoy your dinners better", he muttered. The young Wood-Elf bit his lip as Erestor dished him up a bowl of deer-hoof soup, and bravely picked up his spoon. Elrond felt a twinge of pity – the Prince had obviously not had a restful night, and now he had to tackle a meal that would have featured in a Dwarf's nightmares – and Dwarves ate _truly_ sickening things.

When they had finished their repast, neither Elrond nor Thranduil had eaten much.

"Would you like us to take you on a tour of Imladris?" Glorfindel asked cheerfully, suppressing a belch.

Thranduil shook his head. "No – ah – I think I will take a walk through the gardens, and then meet with Caradorn." He got up and positively fled the room. Elrond wondered if the Prince was really just looking for a place to throw up.

As soon as he had gone, Elrond pushed back his chair and stood, fishtails dropping out of his sleeves. "That", he said flatly, "Was revolting." Apparently not noticing their lord's bad temper, Glorfindel and even Erestor grinned wickedly. "What else have you done to him?" Elrond asked, determined to find out precisely what they were up to.

"Oh", Glorfindel smirked, "Let's just say that the Prince had a very cold wash this morning."

"You turned off his hot water?" Elrond demanded. They nodded, looking inordinately proud of themselves. "_Wonderful!_" the half-elf exclaimed, nearly tearing at his dark hair. "Now Thranduil thinks that Imladris is a place where tone-deaf elves rise at dawn to eat disgusting food and take ice-cold baths. You are giving my realm a _stunning_ reputation, you know that?"

"Who cares?" Glorfindel said blankly. Elrond scowled and started to leave the room. "Where are you going?" the blond warrior asked, still smiling from his victory.

"To the kitchens", the Lord of Imladris snapped, "To get a proper meal!"

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Elrond walked to his study after lunch, which had thankfully been a proper meal. He was just reflecting that he had taken the pleasures of real food for granted, when he spotted Glorfindel and Erestor whispering by a window. "What is it?" he asked them, walking up. He would have bet his original copy of the _The Lay of Luthien_ that they had been talking about their guest.

Erestor pointed and said, "Prince Thranduil has met with Caradorn, and is now reading outside." Elrond peered through the window and spotted the young elf sitting on a stone bench. A group of elf-maidens strolled by him, whispering and giggling and shooting obvious looks at the Prince.

Glorfindel growled low in his throat. "Look at how he stares at those ladies!" he spat. "It's disgraceful!"

Elrond did not point out that it was other way around. In fact, Thranduil had not even glanced up from his book. "So", he said nonchalantly, "What are you planning to do to him now?" He was prepared to forbid any dangerous plan that they were considering.

"Well", Glorfindel said with a malicious smile, "We were thinking of –"

But Elrond never found out what they were thinking. There was a sudden commotion outside: a loud crashing sound, and cries of alarm. Elrond gasped as a bucking horse came hurtling into view, apparently having just broken out of the stables. It gave a shrill whinny and charged straight at the Prince, who dropped his book and swung easily up into a tree.

By now Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor had dashed outside. Several grooms sprinted into view brandishing ropes and halters as they yelled at the runaway horse. There came a chorus of piercing shrieks, and Elrond saw the group of elf-maidens, who had been hiding in the shrubbery to spy on the Prince, scattering as the horse came closer. Their skirts were lifted above their knees as they scurried away, all propriety forgotten. The snorting, stomping beast knocked over the Prince's stone bench and trampled the rosebushes into shreds. One of the fleeing maidens looked over her shoulder, caught her foot in the hem of her dress, and went tumbling to the ground into the path of the escaped horse. Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, the grooms, the other maidens, and several onlookers all raced forward, but they were too far away.

Suddenly, an elf in green and brown dropped out of a tree and ran to the fallen maiden. The elf – whom Elrond recognized as Prince Thranduil – placed himself between the lady and the stampeding horse, which by now was almost on top of them. Confronted by this unexpected obstacle, the horse skidded to a stop and reared above Thranduil. One of its sharp pawing hooves glanced off the Prince's arm, and the elf staggered.

By this time everyone had arrived and the grooms managed to subdue the wild horse, pulling it away. Erestor was in deep conversation with the Head Groom to determine exactly what had happened. Glorfindel, ever attentive to any female in need, graciously helped the maiden to her feet – but she threw herself right back down beside the injured Prince.

As Elrond examined Thranduil's arm, he watched with hidden amusement as the pretty maiden thanked the Prince over and over again. "Oh, you are so brave!" she gushed, eyes wide with adoration. "You saved my life! How can I ever, ever thank you?"

"Your well-being is thanks enough", Thranduil said gallantly, and the maiden flushed and batted her long eyelashes. Erestor's eyes went round as teacups, and Glorfindel looked like he desperately wanted to throw something. The maiden, blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on certain bystanders, cooed in concern over Thranduil's injured arm and tenderly brushed his fair hair back from his brow. Her friends gathered round to add their ardent expressions of gratitude, voicing deep concern over the rescuer's wound.

As the focus of overwhelming attention, the Prince's expression went rapidly from bewilderment to alarm.

Suppressing a smile, Elrond barked, "Move along, everyone. I must see to the Prince's arm."

The curious bystanders obediently left, the maidens with last adoring looks at their new hero, and Elrond helped a dazed Thranduil to his feet. They walked wordlessly to the Prince's room, followed by Glorfindel and Erestor. As Thranduil sat shakily on the edge of his bed, Glorfindel closed the door and leaned against it, still seething from the attention that the elf-maidens had given the Prince.

Elrond proceeded to roll up the sleeve of Thranduil's tunic, and he frowned at what he saw. "Your arm is fractured", the half-elf said as he gently felt the wound.

"Well", the Prince observed, face pale, "If this is not just the thing to top off an already horrible day, I do not know what is." When Elrond had bandaged the arm, he instructed Thranduil to stay in bed. The young Prince was furious, of course. "I am perfectly fine", he snapped. "Hand me my belt, would you?" Nobody moved.

From where he stood by the door, Glorfindel snorted. "Just because you wear a tiara", he said acidly, "Does not mean that you can give orders here." Thranduil stared at him and his lips trembled in soundless outrage. Probably no elf had ever spoken to him like that before.

"You are a guest", Elrond said kindly; he did not want the Prince to do something foolish just because of his wounded pride. Granted, Glorfindel had not been very polite. "We will extend you every courtesy" – he shot a warning look at his seneschal – "But as the Lord of this household, and as a healer, my word is final."

"Fine", said Prince Thranduil with forced calm. "How long must I stay abed?"

"Three days at the very least", Elrond said, "And I would like to keep an eye on you for a week, if I may."

"What!" shouted Thranduil and Glorfindel at the same time.

"Abed for _three days_?" the Prince cried.

"He's staying for a _week_?" the blond elf spluttered.

Elrond's patience snapped, and he treated them both to a glare that would have made icicles grow on a Balrog's nose. They instantly shut up; the young lord could be intimidating when he needed to be – especially when he was angry. "Erestor!" he thundered.

"Yes, my Lord?" the counsellor answered with alacrity.

"Summon Prince Thranduil's two companions."

Erestor bowed and slipped out of the room. Elrond stalked to the cupboard and pulled out a sheet of parchment, an ink-bottle, a quill, and a wooden lap-desk. He shoved the items into the Prince's arms, who looked up at him in surprise. "What do you want me to do?" Thranduil asked guardedly.

Elrond forced himself to speak calmly. He rarely lost his temper, but a certain pair of blond immature elves seemed to have a knack for driving him over the edge. "I want you to write a letter to your father," he replied. "You will explain why you are extending your visit."

The young Wood-Elf groaned and passed his good hand over his eyes. "I can't tell him that I got kicked by a horse!"

"What if you told him you were saving a pretty maiden?" asked Glorfindel sourly, evidently still bitter about Thranduil's new fan club. The Prince noticed Glorfindel's tone and glared at him, silver circlet glinting menacingly.

"Come up with some excuse", urged Elrond. Forget Thranduil; as Lord of Imladris and the Prince's host, Elrond did not want to think of what Oropher would do to _him_ for letting his son get hurt.

The Prince bent over the paper, scribbled a message, and handed it to Elrond who read it aloud for Glorfindel's benefit:

"_My Lord_ –"

"'My Lord'?" Glorfindel broke in with mock surprise. "Not 'Dearest Adar'?"

Elrond silenced his seneschal with a look, and continued:

"_I have decided to remain in Imladris for a few more days. I am enjoying myself here –" _Glorfindel snorted with laughter_ "– in the company of Lord Elrond and his household. Expect me back in time for Tatharwen's wedding. I am sending this note with Silinde and Rinsir, who are bringing Caradorn's goods to you as arranged. Thranduil_."

"That was the best you could come up with?" Glorfindel grinned. "You are 'enjoying yourself here', are you?"

The Prince frowned in irritation. "At least he will believe it", he muttered. "He actually thinks that I had _fun_ the last time we were all together."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Erestor and the two Greenwood elves. Thranduil sealed the letter and handed it to Silinde with instructions to deliver it to Oropher's hand. "And don't you _dare_ tell anyone that my arm is broken", he warned them. The two Wood-Elves agreed and, seeing that their lord was in a bad mood, left quickly.

"Now", Elrond said when the door had closed and the four elves were alone once more, "I believe Glorfindel and Erestor have something to say to you."

"We do?" Glorfindel asked cluelessly.

"We do", Erestor agreed, turning to the Prince. "Glorfindel planned to get you to leave Imladris early by making your stay here unbearable. Please forgive us for the trouble we caused you."

"You – did – _what_?" the Prince stammered, completely losing his composure.

"Well?" asked Elrond gravely. "Do you forgive them?"

"No, I do not!" Thranduil shouted, incensed by the revelation. "Besides," he snarled, stabbing a finger at Glorfindel, "_He_ has not even apologized! Only Erestor has!"

"Very well", said the half-elf. "You are to stay in bed for three days, and Glorfindel will sit by your side until he apologizes and you forgive him." Elrond smirked at the identical looks of shock and horror on the faces of the fair elves, and swept out of the room with a sniggering Erestor at his side.

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That evening two blond elves sat in the same room, one on a chair and one in bed, both deliberately not looking at one other. The door opened and neither of them moved, not even to acknowledge the servant who placed a tray of food on the bedside table. When the servant had left, the two elves each took a bowl of stew, still pretending that there was no other elf in the room.

As Glorfindel ate he glanced at the loaf of bread on the tray. It was uncut, and a knife lay beside it. Glorfindel swore silently to himself – it would be especially difficult to ignore Thranduil if they had to share the same food. This was all Elrond's doing, he knew it; that young elf-lord was too sneaky for his own good. "So!" He said abruptly, startling the Prince who nearly upended the bowl of stew onto his lap. Glorfindel cleared his throat loudly until he had the Wood-Elf's attention. "So", he repeated, "Are we going to sit here silently for another two days and not have any bread?"

Thranduil's green eyes narrowed, glinting like witchfire. "I would prefer hunger and silence to having to converse with you", the Prince replied coldly.

Glorfindel struggled to rein in his temper. "You're lucky then. Because a civil conversation with an arrogant, impudent, spoiled little princeling is damn near impossible."

Thranduil's good hand clenched the bedsheets and he turned even paler. "Well that is no surprise", he said heatedly. "Intelligent thought is well beyond the capacity of a vulgar, offensive, mule-headed drunkard such as yourself."

Glorfindel seized the bread-knife and waved it in front of the startled Prince's face. "I was going to cut the bread for us", he hissed venomously, "But being polite is a challenge for you, is it not?" Without more ado, the blond warrior savagely impaled the loaf on the knifeblade, and proceeded to tear off large pieces and stuff them into his mouth. Thranduil's jaw dropped open in shock and affrontery.

"You – you fiend!" he yelled, and reached out to grab the bread. Glorfindel pushed him away, turning his back as he devoured the loaf as noisily as possible. Crumbs flew everywhere as the last chunk of leftover crust was shredded between them, and in the midst of the tussle both bowls of stew spilled onto the floor. The Prince yelped suddenly as his arm was knocked in the struggle. Glorfindel instinctively paused, and Thranduil took the opportunity to smack the other elf on the shoulder. Hard. "Idiot!" he bellowed, "That bloody well hurt!"

"I did not mean it!" protested Glorfindel.

The Prince scowled at him, and the warrior was reminded strongly of a petulant child. "You could have shared the bread", Thranduil grumbled.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and made to stand up. "I can send for some more –"

The Wood-Elf waved his hand in an unconsciously imperious gesture. "No need", he huffed, settling into his mountain of pillows. "You know, all you have to do is give an acceptable apology."

"What?" the warrior asked, wondering what in the world Thranduil was talking about.

The Prince leaned forward in a businesslike manner. "Look", he reasoned, "If you want to sit at my bedside all day that's fine, but I think we would both prefer it if you never set foot in this room again."

Glorfindel leaned back in his chair, remembering Elrond's instructions: He could not leave the Prince's side until he apologized, and the Prince forgave him. "All right, all right", he mumbled sulkily. "Sorry."

"I do not forgive you."

"Why not?"

Thranduil's eyes widened in eloquent scorn. "You call that an apology?"

"Fine!" snapped Glorfindel. He closed his eyes and took three calming breaths. "I apologize for making your visit unpleasant", he declared. "It was disrespectful and callous. Now do you forgive me?"

"No."

"What!"

"You did not mean it", the Prince said curtly. "You were not sincere."

Glorfindel reminded himself that Elrond would be most unhappy if he killed a guest of Imladris. For good measure, he also reminded himself that he did not have his weapons. Then a little voice in the back of his head started to list all of the objects in the room that he could use instead: the bread-knife, the bedsheets, the leg of the chair he was sitting on, the vase on the bedside table… Glorfindel shook his head to clear it of these dangerous thoughts, and focussed on the conversation. "If sincerity is what you want", he bluntly said, "Then I am going to be here for a _very – long – time_."

Thranduil raised his chin stubbornly. "Fine."

"Fine!"

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Thranduil was asleep, and Glorfindel was bored. At least when the Prince was awake there was something to glare at, but there was just no point in glaring at an elf when he could not see you. To make up for it, Glorfindel started to glare around the room, and his eyes alighted on the Prince's belt hanging on the wall. Two knives were strapped to it, and the warrior remembered the memorable night he had tried to juggle them. He got up from his chair and took the belt down from the wall, careful not to make a sound. With a furtive glance at Thranduil to make sure that the other elf was fast asleep, Glorfindel gently unsheathed one of the daggers.

Moonlight glinted off the white metal, and Glorfindel admired the craft of such a blade. He wondered why it was that the Greenwood elves had such fine weapons, and yet lived like beggars. They were a strange lot. In the corner of the room stood the Prince's bow and quiver of grey-fletched arrows, as well as a haversack. Glorfindel hesitated for only a second before sheathing the knife and opening the bag. He rummaged around inside and lifted out a bottle. Uncorking it, he sniffed the contents and smiled: Dorwinion. Glorfindel dug deeper, and unearthed a book.

Curious at this item, Glorfindel sat down to examine it by candlelight. The book was tatty and dog-eared, and had obviously been read many times. The title was worn from the cover, so Glorfindel flipped carefully to the first page. _Tales of Adventure_ it proclaimed in large, decorative letters, and Glorfindel snickered at the thought of the aloof Prince reading a book of children's fairy-tales.

He turned to the next page, which contained no text except for two inscriptions. The first read: _To my dear son, with love – Oropher_. Below that was the single word _ThrANduiL_ scrawled in childish writing.

"What are you doing?"

Glorfindel looked up and froze, only vaguely aware that he looked like a startled deer. Thranduil's eyes were open.

"I…um…ah…" Glorfindel gulped, unable to think of what to say.

The Prince's eyes alighted on the book, and to Glorfindel's surprise the young Prince blushed. "Give me that", Thranduil mumbled, avoiding the other elf's eyes. Glorfindel complied.

"If I may ask", he said awkwardly, "Why do you carry around a children's book?"

The Prince's blush deepened, and Glorfindel realized that the other elf was greatly embarrassed. "My father gave it to me", Thranduil whispered, his good hand unconsciously tightening on the book.

The blond warrior felt something inside him, and realised that it was remorse. Before he knew it, he was apologizing to the Prince for everything he had done, and Thranduil had mumbled his forgiveness. Not wishing to stay and embarrass the Wood-Elf or himself any further, Glorfindel hurried out of the room, his thoughts racing. He did not know where he was going until a voice hailed him.

He turned to see Elrond and Erestor in the library. "Where are you going?" Elrond demanded with that stern expression that always managed to make Glorfindel feel like a wayward child.

"I apologized to the Prince and am forgiven", the seneschal explained. "I was just going to…" He really did not know where he had been going. The unexpected window into Thranduil's private life had sent his mind reeling. It was so much simpler to just think of the Wood-Elf in terms of his station; why, oh why did he ever have to go snooping around in the Prince's things? With a distracted nod, Glorfindel headed off to his rooms.

Elrond turned to Erestor, who looked as baffled as he felt. "I wonder what that was about", the elf-lord mused aloud.

His councillor shrugged. "I do not know, but you heard him. He apologized to the Prince and was forgiven, which means that you owe me your last bottle of green ink."

The half-elf frowned. "I did not think that they would reconcile so quickly", he admitted. "And I am very fond of that green ink."

Erestor smiled calmly. "A wager is a wager, my Lord."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, Prince Thranduil stared moodily out of the window from his bed. His two companions had started their journey that morning for the Greenwood, bearing Caradorn's jewels and his personal message to his father. He heaved a frustrated sigh – while his friends were out there doing their duty, he had to stay here. Thranduil was grateful to Elrond for his care, yet extremely irritated. He had to stay in bed for two more days! What could he possibly do for two more days?

A knock sounded on the door, a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like _Song of Nimrodel_. The door was flung open, and last elf in the world that Thranduil expected stepped into the room. The Prince stared as Glorfindel took a seat at his bedside and deposited several large books on the blankets. "Good morning", the other elf greeted, and Thranduil could only nod in reply. "I thought I would bring you some reading material", the other elf explained, gesturing at the stack of books. "You might enjoy these. Adventure tales, written for adults."

"And you're one of them", Thranduil guessed, eliciting a surprised look from Glorfindel. He made another guess: "These are your books, correct?"

The blond warrior nodded and smiled. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." He got to his feet and tapped the book on the top of the pile. "I recommend this one", he said amicably, "_Balrog of Blue Mountain_." With a cheery grin, the elf stepped out of the room, leaving Thranduil in a state of bewildered shock.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Elrond decided to dine with his injured guest, and of course Glorfindel and Erestor insisted upon coming. They all pulled chairs up to the side of Thranduil's bed, and Elrond was surprised by the Prince's efforts to be civil and even affable. He did not know what had passed between Thranduil and his seneschal, but Elrond was not about to ask. "Your arm is healing nicely", he commented. "If all goes well, perhaps we can get those bandages off tomorrow night."

"I'll drink to that", the Prince replied dryly, then frowned when he looked into his empty goblet. "Glorfindel", he said suddenly, "Can you get the bottle out of my pack?" An interested Elrond watched his seneschal produce a glass bottle from Thranduil's bag. The Prince uncorked it and poured a small amount of dark red liquid into their cups.

"What is that?" Erestor asked interestedly.

"That", proclaimed the Wood-Elf, "Is the finest Dorwinion that you will ever taste."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And you carry it around for medicinal purposes, right?"

"You never know when you will need to celebrate", Thranduil countered.

The four elves clinked their goblets together, and sipped at the wine.

"Mmm", Glorfindel sighed, licking his lips. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Elrond accidentally choked on his Dorwinion, and Erestor slapped him on the back. "Memories?" Elrond coughed, eyes wide with incredulity. "I would rather not remember that day. In fact, it never happened. I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Let me refresh that faulty memory of yours", the blond elf said with a sly smile. "It's so high, so high, so high", he sang mockingly in a squeaky falsetto, "And no trees to climb nearby–"

"Enough!" Elrond interrupted, trying to ignore the badly-concealed sniggers of Erestor and Thranduil. "Might I remind you that you were so drunk, you wanted to cut Prince Thranduil's hair."

"What!" yelped the Wood-Elf, turning to Glorfindel for explanations.

"But I did not cut your hair", the seneschal insisted. "Besides, you whacked me on the head with a soup tureen."

"Actually, he threw it out of a tree", Erestor pointed out serenely, "And it just happened to hit you."

Elrond chuckled with sudden remembrance. "Remember Galdor wearing that thing on his head?" The elves collapsed into fits of laughter, and Thranduil topped up their goblets.

"I seem to remember Glorfindel putting something unfitting on his head", remarked the Prince, pointing at his silver crown. The seneschal had the grace to blush. Or maybe it was just the wine.

"It did not look good on you at all", Erestor commented idly.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, indeed. It clashed with his golden hair."

"I am sure that was the furthest thing from Gil-Galad's mind when he saw us", said Elrond wryly. "Or Oropher's. Or Cirdan's."

Glorfindel covered his eyes. "Let's not think about what we looked like to them", he groaned dramatically. "I cannot _believe_ they saw me standing on a table…"

"And I cannot believe they saw me attacking you with a priceless vase", admitted Thranduil.

"And _I _cannot believe they saw Galdor carrying me on his back", Erestor moaned, burying his face in his arms.

"Still", Elrond said with a rather silly grin, "That was an unforgettable night, was it not?"

He smiled and raised his goblet, and the other elves enthusiastically raised theirs in turn. They were not drunk, but Dorwinion is a most potent wine. "To memories", the half-elf proclaimed loudly. "When we grow older, wiser, and more experienced, may the memories of our foolish youth serve to entertain us for many an hour."

"Here, here!" Glorfindel cheered.

Their songs would last through the night, but the young elves did not care that they would be keeping half of Rivendell awake with them. Indeed, at the time they thought that "Song of Nimrodel" had never sounded better, especially when accompanied by goblets pounded on tabletops. And none of the elves would complain the next morning, for who would dare remonstrate the venerable Lord Elrond, his eminent councillor Erestor, Lord Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer, and Crown Prince Thranduil of the Greenwood?

**End.**

_**A/N: **Thanks for reading this! Reviews are always appreciated, because they make me happy! If you haven't already, read the prequel "Pass the Dorwinion", and the sequel "The Greenwood Experience." They're both hilarious._


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